


Sleep

by LiraelClayr007



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Sharing a Bed, the doctor's got it bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 16:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17584106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiraelClayr007/pseuds/LiraelClayr007
Summary: He stands, stretches, then crouches beside her. “Rose,” he says, gently tucking her hair behind her ear. He’s been thinking of doing that since she fell asleep; he wonders in a corner of his mind if she feels the same electric tingle that he does. “Rose, let’s get you to your bed. We’ve had lots of running the past few days, your body needs good sleep.”She gives a few slow, sleepy blinks, tries to focus on him, gives up, then pulls the blanket over her head.**In which Rose falls asleep in the library and the Doctor tries to get her to bed....and then doesn't want to leave.





	Sleep

She’s been asleep on the library sofa for over three hours now; fuzzy blanket tucked up under her chin, toes pushing against his thigh. Her hair’s pulled back in a ponytail, all but a stray lock that’s come loose and has fallen in a perfect yellow curl across her pink cheek. She practically glows in the firelight.

He’s been reading the same two pages for the past forty-five minutes.

Finally he gives up. He can’t even remember what he’s trying to read.

He stands, stretches, then crouches beside her. “Rose,” he says, gently tucking her hair behind her ear. He’s been thinking of doing that since she fell asleep; he wonders in a corner of his mind if she feels the same electric tingle that he does. “Rose, let’s get you to your bed. We’ve had lots of running the past few days, your body needs good sleep.”

She gives a few slow, sleepy blinks, tries to focus on him, gives up, then pulls the blanket over her head.

He can’t help the low chuckle that rumbles from his chest. “Oh no you don’t, Rose Tyler. I’m not going to let you sleep here for ten or twelve hours and wake up with a stiff neck and a sore back.”

She growls.

His chuckle becomes a full on laugh.

“All right then, you asked for it!” He scoops her off the sofa, blanket and all. For all his teasing words, he’s quite gentle. She growls again from under her blanket, and adds in a scratchy voice, “Doctor! I was sleeping!”

“You’ll thank me in the morning, Rose.”

The TARDIS is being particularly helpful; Rose’s bedroom door isn’t usually just across the hall from the library, but it is now. He’s not sure if he should thank his ship or not. He rather enjoys the feel of Rose in his arms, even when she’s cranky.

When he gets her into her room the TARDIS is again being helpful; the lights are low, just bright enough that he won’t trip getting Rose to bed. He should get her there, tuck her in and be gone, but...he stands for a moment, just taking it in. He loves this room, so perfectly Rose. Books in a precarious pillar on the bedside table, pink pillows thrown on the sofa, discarded clothes tossed here and there, makeup and brushes and combs scattered across the vanity. The pictures on the mirror always warm his hearts; there’s Jackie and Mickey of course, along with a smattering of other friends from London and a few of Jack Harkness, but then there’s him and Rose all over time and space. They’ve left their mark on the universe, him and his Rose.

His favorite, though, is the watercolor from their visit to early 1900s Paris. They’d been sitting by the river, just talking and laughing and smiling at one another. An artist had been painting nearby and been captivated. The painting was breathtaking, somehow managing to capture the light between them. The Doctor had purchased it on the spot.

He plants a soft kiss on the top of her head, the only part of her peeking out from under the blanket. He thinks he hears a soft gasp escape her lips, but maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

“Come on, to bed with you,” he says, partly to her and partly to get himself moving. He lays her on her bed, taking care to pull the blanket off her face. “Do you want pajamas, or are you going to sleep in your clothes?”

She blinks at him, clearly trying to think straight. “‘m wearin’ yoga pants and a tank top, ‘s good enough. Jus’ help me get my sweatshirt off.” She blinks again, then adds, “Please.”

He swallows past the dry lump in his throat. “Alright,” he says, hoping she doesn’t hear the slight quaver in his voice.

She props herself up on her elbows, then struggles to a sitting position. She looks at him expectantly, and he realizes he’s going to have to do the lion’s share of the work getting the shirt over her head. She can barely keep herself upright. “Hey you,” he says, tugging on the hem. The tank top underneath rides up, caught in the heavier material, and he’s momentarily captivated by the sight of that strip of skin suddenly bared. His breath catches and he pauses, transfixed.

“Is it stuck or something?” Her voice is muffled, the shirt completely covering face.

He makes a sound somewhere between a cough and clearing his throat. “Ah, no.” He tugs at the sweatshirt to get it all the way off, then takes a moment to tuck the errant strand of her hair back behind her ear again. Risking a glance, he’s relieved to find that her tank top his fallen back into place. Most of him is relieved. Part of him is rewinding time to relive that small glimpse.

Rose flashes a sleepy smile and snuggles into her pillow and quilts. “‘s been a really long day, Doctor. I think I should sleep.” Her words are slurred with exhaustion.

He has to hold back a laugh as he straightens the quilts. “Right you are, Rose Tyler.” Her eyelids have fallen closed, lashes resting on her cheeks, so he leans down and brushes a soft kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight, love,” he says, his voice less than a whisper.

He pads silently to the door, thankful he’d left his trainers in the library. Before he leaves he stops to look at her; he sees beauty and ferocity and strength and courage and softness and so much love. How can one person contain so much? But she does, all that and more.

Hand on the doorknob, he hesitates. He doesn’t want to leave her. Of course he  _ never _ wants to leave her, but just now there’s something…

“Doctor?”

He starts, nearly shrieks. He thought she’d been sleeping. He looks at her again and sees that her eyes are open and inviting.

“Just...stay with me?” She scoots back on the bed to make room for him, then bites her lower lip, unsure.

His mouth is suddenly bone dry. When he tries to answer no sound comes out, so he just nods, but he hopes his smile is reassuring enough for the words he cannot say.

Jacket hung on the back of a chair, he climbs into the bed. He lays on his back and she immediately cuddles up to him, tucking herself under his arm and pressing her body against his side.

The scent of her overwhelms him.

She sighs, content, and he feels her body falling asleep. “G’night, Doctor,” she says.

The Doctor begins to feel his body relax as well; surprised, he thinks,  _ Maybe I could sleep too. _   
  


**Author's Note:**

> So. Funny story. I've been struggling with the last chapter of _'til Midnight_...not because I don't know the end or even how to get there or anything like that, but just because I've been writing this heavy angst-fest for ages and ages and it's starting to weigh me down. So I thought to myself, "hey, Stacy, why don't you write something sweet and fluffy? It'll get you out of your funk and then you can finish what you started." I thought that sounded like a grand idea.
> 
> Only I wrote this instead. Not the tooth-rotting fluff I'd planned.
> 
> Oops.
> 
> (I am pleased with the result. I wouldn't post it otherwise. It's just...not what I'd intended!!)


End file.
